


i get by with a little help from

by Dandybear



Category: The Wicked + The Divine
Genre: Character Study, Eleanor Rigby is a useless bisexual, F/F, Female Friendship, Gen, Laura Wilson would snog a severed head, Read the Christmas Annual to get most of this, Spoilers up to #36
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandybear/pseuds/Dandybear
Summary: The friendship between Eleanor Rigby and Hazel née Emily Greenaway is one of necessity. Born from loneliness and a shared love of World of Warcraft, their relationship grew--like most online friendships do--from a long summer vacation and no friends in their immediate surroundings.Lucifer and Amaterasu friendship study with special guest stars: useless bisexuals, Beatles references, and Stupid Sexy Laura Wilson.





	i get by with a little help from

**Author's Note:**

> so i got caught up on wicdiv and now i have a lot of feelings. the hour of reunion is close at hand kieron pls. 
> 
> bless the christmas annual 2k17 for informing me that these two dorks are smelly gamers, and that ammy draws fanart.

The friendship between Eleanor Rigby and Hazel née Emily Greenaway is one of necessity. Born from loneliness and a shared love of World of Warcraft, their relationship grew--like most online friendships do--from a long summer vacation and no friends in their immediate surroundings.

Somehow, it’s survived Eleanor’s Morrissey phase and Hazel’s _My Little Pony_ phase, so chances are they’ll die before they stop talking to each other.

Eleanor is perfectly candid about Hazel. Yes, she’s a spoiled brat. Yes, she’s annoying. Yes, she’s insensitive and doesn’t understand things like privilege, class inequality, or the finer aspects of racism. But, if you fucking talk shit about her then Eleanor will set fire to your car. And your hair. And your clothes. Not your dog though, your dog did nothing wrong.

Hazel is, to this day, Eleanor’s closest and (when she’s feeling her most pathetic) only friend.

Loneliness is a cage of Eleanor’s own making. It comes from developing too quickly as a child, then getting left behind while waiting for everyone else to catch up. Homeschooled, because of a then-undefined disorder that made her ‘difficult in a classroom setting’ and ‘took attention away from the other children’, until the age of fourteen. It turns out it was none of the scary sounding personality disorders the teachers suggested, only run of the mill Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and _anxiety._

She goes to school, joins marching band, gets adopted by the tabletop roleplayers, and has a spot in the burnout circle by the sports field, but if you ask Eleanor about it, she will say that she graduated without a single friend.

It’s a point of frustration at her college.

Eleanor Rigby is charming, witty, and looks _so good_ in those tight black jeans.

Eleanor Rigby politely declines the invitation to a party from her deskmate.

Eleanor Rigby tosses out the coffee cup with the barista’s number on it without ever looking at the side.

Eleanor Rigby does all of this on her way to the bleachers to watch the track team stretch.

All those pretty girls and boys with their hair flowing in the wind and their lean bodies.

“I’m going to die alone,” Eleanor moans into her microphone.

“Ellie, I swear, I could have found a girlfriend and married her at this point if I spent as much time whining about it as you,” Hazel says, stealing a kill.

“Girls are so hard to talk to,” Eleanor says.

“You talk to me all the time, you’re the best at talking,” Hazel says.

“You’re different. You can’t judge me you draw Naruto fanart,”

“Rude!” Hazel huffs.

A moment of the two of them breathing on the mic to each other.

“What happened to that girl, Mikayla?” Hazel says, popping a marshmallow into her mouth.

“She’s a vegan,” Eleanor says.

“Oh.”

#

She’s fingering a dog eared copy of _Ozymandias_ when Hazel asks if she’s heard of ‘The Recurrence’.

Eleanor plays coy.

(Eleanor dreams of Lake Geneva.)

(Eleanor dreams of crucifixion and the sacking of Rome.)

(Eleanor dreams of jazz clubs and the brassy laugh of an unseen woman.)

(Eleanor knows who she is.)

“Load of shite, right?” she says.

“Please! You’re closer to Ragnarok than I am. You have to go! You have to see,” Hazel begs.

Hazel is _the best_ at begging.

#

David Blake is as big of a cunt in person as he is on The Recurrence message board. The only one with spine enough to challenge him on his smug bullshit is some adorable freckled girl with the prettiest green eyes Eleanor’s ever seen. Yeah, she might have soft-stalked her after the talk. It’s not creepy, she just also had to use the washroom, and then the water fountain, and then visited the gift shop.

“Hazel, _I’ve just seen a face,_ ” Eleanor sighs.

“So, you didn’t talk to her?” Hazel says.

“I was gonna, but then you texted me and she got off the train,” Eleanor huffs.

Hazel says nothing.

“Look! If I see her again I’ll introduce myself, I’ll even try to be charming,” Eleanor says.

“I bet you twenty quid you won’t,” Hazel says.

“I will feed you that twenty quid,”

#

“I don’t want to fucking do thi-iissss, I want to live to be old, god fucking damn it,” Lucifer sings tunelessly into her glass of whiskey.

Her head drops further, landing onto the bar with a pathetic thud.

Her phone lights up with another text from Hazel to ignore.

“Just own it. No use whining,” comes a voice.

Lucifer’s head shoots up.

Sakhmet sits next to her, considers the glass, then drinks straight from the bottle.

“It’s moot. We’re all going to die sooner or later, so might as well enjoy what we are,” Sakhmet says.

“Wanna know something funny?” Lucifer mumbles through her hand.

Sakhmet glances at her out of the corner of her eye.

“I’ve known I was the devil since I was ten, thought I could get out of it, thought maybe whoever it was wouldn’t want me,” Lucifer says.

“I don’t believe you,” Sakhmet says.

“That’s a good policy. It would be on brand for the Father of Lies for me to be utterly full of shit,” Eleanor smiles.

She’s messy, and kind of lame, but Sakhmet kisses her anyway.

What Eleanor learns from this is that vulnerability is something to avoid as a god, just like in school. And, just like in school, she mocks Tara for being the only one with enough of a spine to be vulnerable.

She pushes the people who do love her (Mum, Dad, Hazel) away and hides from every attempt at connection. Why? (Because she’s going to die and they don’t deserve front row seats to her going supernova) Because she’s a terrible person, Fuck You.

#

What are the fucking chances?

Pretty high, considering the early members of the fandom still keep in touch and share concert details.

It’s probably not her.

The mind plays tricks. Shows the beholder what she wants to see.

What Lucifer wants to see is named: _Laura Wilson, seventeen, about five-five, and from Brockley._

Lucifer hums a few bars without recognizing the song she has in her head. Laura awakens like the spring, all fluttering eyelashes exposing those green eyes. The romantic poet in Lucifer’s heart longs to reach for a pen. To mark this moment down for the ages.

Instead, Lucifer tries to be charming. She succeeds as being creepy, which is more on brand anyway.

Instead, Lucifer offers Laura a hand and an escort backstage. Like, she’s not the devil coaxing some innocent girl towards the underworld. Like, there isn’t some precedent for that.

#

(Her name is Laura and her hair smells nice.)

(Her name is Laura and she visits Lucifer in prison.)

(Her name is Laura and she has this cute brassy laugh she uses when she’s flirting.)

(Her name is Laura and Lucifer offers her a taste of divinity.)

Laura’s eyes are hungry. She doesn’t want a taste. She wants the whole thing. She wants to devour power, and Lucifer hopes, a little, that Laura wants to devour her as well.

There’s something deep and dark, and _ancient_ about Laura. It’s on the tip of Lucifer’s tongue every time she’s on the receiving end of _that look_.

_“Have we met before, Darling?”_

Because, it’s not just that she’s the girl at the rock show.

She looks forward to finding out once she’s free and has ample chance to explore every part of Laura Wilson, starting somewhere near the bottom and staying there for a good ten days worshipping.

Because Laura deserves it. Lucifer’s in hell, and Laura is the only light in there with her.

(And Hazel still owes her twenty fucking quid.)

#

“Well, this can’t be hell because I wouldn’t decorate this tacky,” she sighs.

“Correct, Lucifer. This is not hell,” Ananke says.

“Are you going to extrapolate any further?” Lucifer asks.

“No,” Ananke says with some satisfaction.

#

“So, how is Laura?” Lucifer asks, as casually as one can.

Inanna rolls his eyes affectionately, “She misses you terribly.”

She blames the whole ‘being just a severed head’ thing on the time it takes her to process this.

“Has she had her ascension yet?” Lucifer asks.

Inanna smiles, “She’s Persephone, Luce.”

Lucifer bursts into tears and she doesn’t know why.

#

Salvation arrives in fashionable sneakers and jeans that she looks _oh so good in_. Persephone has two toned hair and eyes that glow in the dark. Laura looks better and worse than when Lucifer last saw her. Sexier, more powerful, yes, but also exhausted and sad.

She should say something funny and disarming. Something charming. Hazel’s voice in her head begs her not to be creepy.

“Welcome to Hell, Darling,” is what comes out.

Tara sighs deeply.

“Laura!” Inanna says.

Lucifer’s pinned by that haunting gaze, and before she can try again with her words, she’s being picked up by the jaw and having her severed head lifted to be nose to nose with Persephone.

“I believe I owe you a kiss,” Persephone whispers.

“I recall you saying you’d do more than just kiss me,” Lucifer replies.

Laura snorts, “Not much else I can do until we get you into a body.”

“Well, not with that attitude.”

Tara groans.

#

“You silly bitch. How dare you die before me.” her fingers twitch around her cigarette, still getting used to having connection between body and brain.

Hazel Greenaway hasn’t been dead long enough to have a hedgestone. There’s no grass on her grave, the area’s loaded with flowers, decorations, false idols.

Hazel was the mole who led to Lucifer's incarceration--intentional or not. Lucifer hates that she was right about that. Hazel failed her, but she failed Hazel, and they all failed Ruth.

That's who she's visiting next.

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor says.

She takes the drawing from her pocket, it’s been collecting dust on her desk all these months. She tucks it among a bouquet of white roses.

“Consider us square,” she sighs.

Arms wrap around her from behind.

“Come on, Love. Let’s go home,” Persephone says into her earlobe.

Lucifer descends.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ksPrn9TxWQI/WlQsjbmFG8I/AAAAAAAABTY/BsfpKeF4xRQxhaHQ8Kpstttd0m5jGFGoQCHMYCw/s1600/RCO025.jpg
> 
> The drawing.


End file.
